Forget the Fancy Accolades
by mindless fear of fire
Summary: Why did they keep doing this thankless job? Why did they give so much to a job that gave so little in return? Ros POV, One-shot. Some spoilers for 8.01


**Title: Forget the Fancy Accolades.  
Rating:K+**

**!!!!Contains SPOILERS for 8.01, plus for several main storylines from season 5 onwards!!!!**

**A/N: This is a fic that came to me while I was watching the Festival of Remembrance, believe it or not. Its from Ros' point of view. Just a wee one-shot.**

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Ros started blankly at the TV screen, not seeing the images that flashed across it. Instead, she was trapped within the image flashing across the built up water in her eyes. Her face showed a rare display of emotion – tortured, pained emotion. Blinking rapidly, she ignored the tears that trailed down her cheeks, looking instead at her clenched fist. Opening it slowly, red and green could be seen emerging, and she slowly smoothed her fingers over the crumpled paper. Once it was straightened, she lifted the poppy by the stem, and peered at it through the tears. When she had arrived home, she hadn't even been aware that the Festival of Remembrance was on. She had simply turned the TV on to help chase away the silence in her flat. Her plan had been to fix herself some dinner, then collapse into bed, but for some reason she had sat on the sofa and begun watching the Festival. She knew quite a few people in the Armed Forces, and she was honestly glad that they were getting such a deserved recognition. It was about time people started to appreciate the sacrifice of all of those who were injured or worse whilst working to protect their country.

But, watching that, and especially hearing the stories from family members and the surviving servicemen and women, had left her unable to maintain her stony lock on her emotions. It had brought up memories of so many people that had lost so much, doing the exact same thing as these heroes, and yet had never received one word of praise or gratitude. Even in her three years in MI5 alone she had seen so many people from their team give their lives, and they didn't get a flower, or a fancy service. Hell, they didn't even get a passing mention. Zaf, Ruth, Adam, Ben, Lucas... even Connie... they had all given their lives in one form or another, and what did they have to show for it? Zaf, presumed dead, having almost certainly been tortured for information. Ruth, having to give up not one, but two lives for the Service. Wes an orphan, left to struggle on alone after the Service took not one but both his parents. Ben, dead before he could even grow into the serious profession he found himself in. Lucas, losing eight years of his life, and yet so much more besides; losing his wife, his family, his future. They were all nothing more than statistics on a page, discarded somewhere in a filing cabinet gathering dust.

And Connie - how Ros wanted to hate Connie for what she did. In fact, it was more than want, it was desperation. Because Connie had done the worst thing imaginable; betraying her country and her team. But she couldn't hate her. Ros knew why she had done it. She knew, not because of her own betrayals in the past, but because she knew the feeling of helplessness, when you get caught inside a thankless system with no apparent way of escape. When you become so disillusioned with the life you find yourself stuck in that you become willing to sell your soul to change it. But despite it all, Connie had saved so many lives. Connie had saved Ros' life. Except Connie didn't even have the luxury of becoming a statistic. She would never be known, her sacrifice never acknowledged outside of their little team.

And that galled Ros. More than she would care to admit.

Thinking about the few members of Section D left, she knew that even though they were alive they had still sacrificed more than anyone should ever have to. She wasn't surprised by Malcolm's decision to leave. He had given so much, and what would he have had to show for it if he had died in that house? A small smile played along her lips as she recalled the little nest egg he would have waiting for him now, from the Boscard fiasco. She was glad he had escaped, maybe not unscathed, but intact nonetheless.

Ros wasn't sure if she could still describe Jo as intact. She had been broken too many times lately, and Ros worried about her much more than she let on. But she had to respect how each and every time something happened to her, Jo kept coming back for more. Just like Lucas, and Ruth. Just like herself. Why did they do it to themselves? Why did they keep coming back to such a thankless job?

But as she gazed at the creased poppy, she knew why they did it. They did it because somebody had to. They did it because, like an addiction, they needed to. It became like a drug, poisoning you from the inside out but still drawing you further in. They didn't want the fancy accolades, the shiny medals, or the public ceremonies. All they wanted to do was finish the case, to try and make a difference. But more than that, they wanted to make it through the day, and help their colleagues make it through with them. And if one of those colleagues didn't make it, they could rest knowing that nobody in the team would ever forget them.

After all, "Colleagues are OK."

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**Well, what did you think?**


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